


Apologies and Amends

by CarminaVulcana



Series: Broken Unbroken [7]
Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, F/M, Gen, Modern AU, Reincarnation, Silences and Insanities, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 06:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarminaVulcana/pseuds/CarminaVulcana
Summary: Prompt: I love your Modern AU. Amaresh and Devika are so cute. I know the whole rebirth thing traces back to canon but what what if it traced back to Silences and Insanities. Like an AU within an AU? One story like that please.Author's note: This story is different than my canon-led modern AU. While that AU is a rebirth story drawn from canon ‘verse, this is a rebirth story that draws from my Silences and Insanities AU. In this AU, Amarendra was captured and imprisoned for 25 years while Devasena and Mahendra lived a quiet life in Amburi. Also, Bhallaladeva’s treatment of his prisoner in this AU is much worse than what he did in canon (and that was already bad!) Please read and tell me if you want me to continue to develop this modern AU as well. The other one, as many of you know, has taken on a rather fun life of its own.
Relationships: Amarendra Baahubali/Devasena
Series: Broken Unbroken [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1112085
Comments: 22
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Amresh played the last piece for the evening. His fingers gently moved across the black and ivory expanse of the piano while the final order of drinks was served to the patrons. It was nearly 3 am and almost everyone in the audience was too drunk or too tired to care about what he was playing. He could have played ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and gotten away with it.

But he was nothing if not a man of his word. He had promised only classical and jazz pieces to the owner. So even though nobody was really listening to him anymore, he played the last movement of _Una Mattina_ by Ludovico Einaudi with each pianissimo perfectly in place and each forte delivered with the same gusto as the very first crescendo of the night.

Nobody noticed when he played the final note. Nobody saw him shut the lid on the keyboard. No server offered him a drink of water after such a long evening of near-continuous playing. In fact, he slipped out the door like a shadow; unimportant, interesting only when cast into a unique pattern, but otherwise as natural as a pebble, a leaf, or a mud puddle.

It was a strange life to lead. In some sense, he had everything he would ever need. But in other ways, he didn’t have the most basic thing most people took for granted. A single night of dreamless sleep.

He was now accustomed to coming home to an empty apartment. He deliberately left a single lightbulb on every morning when he left the house. But its meagre light and warmth could not feed his elaborate illusion of not being so alone.

His mother phoned him every few weeks but his conversations with her were always on the formal side. He couldn’t remember a time when he had actually trusted her. It was sad because all these years, she had done everything in her power to win his trust and see one, simple smile on his handsome face.

Amresh, for all intents and purposes, was a brat. Swethambari and Ajith Balaraju were exemplary parents. They had done nothing to deserve their son’s cold attitude. Each month, they deposited a cheque of INR 75,000 in his bank account because they knew he wasn’t making enough to survive as a freelance musician. And each month, the money simply piled up in the bank because it was never withdrawn.

On the other hand, a parallel account struggled to maintain minimum balance at the end of every month after all the bills had been paid. 

This was not a respectable existence.

Amresh opened that month’s electricity bill. INR 400. He sighed in relief. This, he could manage.

He tossed the empty BSES envelope into the trash and made his way to the bathroom for a shower. He did not look at himself in the mirror while he undressed. There was no need to. He knew the ugly “birthmarks” intimately. Thanks to them, no one had ever known _him_ intimately.

_“I… I can’t,”_ his first girlfriend, Yamini, had said to him on seeing his back and torso. They had been dating for two years when she told him she was ready. It had taken him an enormous amount of courage to undress before her, to show all of himself to her. But in the end, she had only confirmed his worst fears… and torn his fleeting self esteem to shreds.

It was all in the past now. Yamini was in the US, finishing her master’s degree. He was in Mumbai, the so-called city of dreams. She was chasing her dreams. He was being chased by demons he did not even recognize. She was everything he could never be. He was everything the world didn’t need.

He sometimes wondered if he should give therapy another chance. His eyes were again drawn to the card sitting on his desk. Dr. Devika Reddy, MBBS, MD. She was not a counselor. She was a psychiatrist. And yet, patients who were under her care, seemed to do better than many others.

But Amresh knew he couldn’t seek her help. She charged INR 700 for a single consultation. He didn’t have that kind of cash to spare. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no shame in seeking help. Scarred past lives need resolution. Amarendra (Amresh) and Bhallaladeva (Bhargav) seek relief from old ghosts. Fate will lead them to the same crossroads that catalyzed their doom generations ago. 
> 
> Note- This is the modern AU of the Silences and Insanities universe

Dr. Devika Reddy did not like the naked sexism exhibited by the other doctors at her center. She often wondered if it would be better for her to return to her old job in Hyderabad. But then she reminded herself of the reason she had shifted to Mumbai in the first place. Money and success were only secondary to her own emotional wellbeing. Mumbai had no nightmares to trap her. Mumbai had no past connections to hold her back.

Mumbai was not the city where she had married and divorced a man 12 years her senior while still in her final year of high school.

She didn’t have any regrets, but her fear of having to spend her life alone was so strong that despite knowing better, she constantly fell into relationships with problematic men.

“Why you always attract the assholes, is beyond me,” Sangeeta, her immediate senior and best friend laughed when she heard about the latest disaster.

“It’s not a joke,” Devika snapped. “The idiot brought me a hentai comic book… because I told him I was into serious anime. How did we go from Inuyasha and Death Note to ‘Kitty, Kitty Sakura’ and a horribly porny version of Hagemaru. Ewwwww.”

“Sounds like someone fun.”

“Right, why don’t you date him then?”

“I would’ve if I weren’t engaged.”

Devika sighed. “Look, I think it’s better I stick to my quiet life with Doraemon.”

“Then all those rumors about you being a cat lady will come true.”

“Yeah, I don’t care.”

Sangeeta shrugged her shoulders and finished the last few sips of her coffee. “Time to get back to duty. Are you attending the ethics committee meeting With Dr. Malvankar?”

“As if I have a choice,” Devika yawned. “Like I have nothing better to do than to hear an old bozo drone on and on about the morality of judging your patients. Duh!”

“You are such an ageist! Old bozo? Huh!”

“Whatever, I can’t stay for the whole thing. I have a patient coming in at 3:30.”

*****

The rehearsals of the Lyric Ensemble of Mumbai were in full swing.

Frau Ottilia Rosen’s living room resounded with the gentle hum of melodious voices as sopranos and altos harmonized their parts while they waited for the tenors and to arrive. The basses sat in a corner and worked on their pieces, figuring out who among them had the range to reach the upper notes of the bass 1 line.

Amresh savored every moment as he played each choral part on Frau Rosen’s vintage Schimmel piano. He couldn’t afford such a classy instrument even if he used up all his savings from the last 10 years, so he was grateful for this gig. Even though he wasn’t much of an accompanist, he enjoyed playing for the singers because it gave him an opportunity to practice on the Schimmel.

Even the rehearsal venue had a strange, calming quality about it. Frau Rosen’s living room looked like a cross between an attic and a colonial era tea room. The book shelf next to the piano boasted of hundreds of rare titles that music aficionados everywhere would give an arm and a leg for. Much of the sheet music contained in those pages was in Swedish, German, and Latin. The more modern, mainstream music lived on the lid of the piano itself.

“Hey, Amresh, could we practice _Cantique De Jean Racine_ next?” Katyal, a middle-aged baritone asked. “We will figure out the bass 1 part in _Benedictum_ later.”

“But the tenors aren’t here,” Amresh said. “Don’t we need them for Cantique?”

“We do, but they are late as always. The ladies have been here all morning. It is unfair to keep them waiting.”

Amresh nodded.

Frau Rosen came to the center of the room and all the singers stood up as the pianist played the intro.

For several bars, the chorus flowed like a stream. But in the second section of the piece, the altos missed their entry.”

“Altos, you pick up just after the tenors, in bar 41,” Amresh pointed out. “The tenors aren’t here but I am playing their line for you quite clearly.” Like every other time, this part was fixed yet again, even though everyone knew that the same thing would happen next rehearsal as well.

After practice, the group moved to the dining hall for tea and a small snack. Frau Rosen was an excellent baker and her fruitcake was by far the best thing about rehearsal days.

“Amresh,” she called him to the kitchen. “Here, take come of this cheese with you. And oh, we made too much lasagna this afternoon. I can’t possibly eat so much. Since you like Italian food, I think you’re the right person to take this.”

Amresh wordlessly took the packed food from her. He knew what she was doing. And he was immensely grateful for it. It was true that to minimize his expenses, he often skipped meals. But tonight, he wouldn’t have to do that. Thanks to Frau Rosen’s kindness, he would have dinner.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Ready to leave, young man?” Katyal’s voice boomed from the other end of the hallway.

“Yes, sir,” Amresh answered, again grateful that the choir members were so nice to him. Katyal would need to take a detour to drop him home but he always insisted on doing so.

Amresh didn’t quite knew why he was so wary of Katyal, despite liking the man’s company. He managed to hide his skittishness usually but sometimes, the old baritone saw right through him.

“I don’t bite, son,” he said gently as they pulled out of the driveway. “You can unclench your hands.”

Amresh, who hadn’t even realized that his hands were balled into fists, turned a deep shade of red. “I… I am sorry. It’s just a bad habit.”

“Do you suffer from anxiety?”

“Er… yeah, a bit.”

“You should try yoga. It will help.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Amresh looked out of the window as a light drizzle covered the glass with a smattering of raindrops. On the other side though, the world continued about on its merry and miserable way. Zara, Sabyasachi, Prada, and other high end brands shared floorspace with ramshackle tea stalls, stray cats, and the occasional beggar trying to protect his head from the rain using a discarded piece of tarpaulin.

Amresh hated this spectacle. He hated the injustices of the world. He hated the accidents of birth that condemned people to entire lifetimes of untold suffering. And he hated himself because if he had the courage to claim his parents’ vast business empire, he could be in a position to help millions of people.

But a familiar prickle in his lower back reminded him why he wanted nothing to do with his parents.

There was no logical explanation for it. But occasionally, the thick mesh of scars carved all over him ached for no reason. These supposed birthmarks had no rational explanation. But often, they got inflamed when he was close to his parents or when he was overcome by a particularly bad set of nightmares.

As he continued to stare out of the window, they passed by the Jharnabai Husnawala Institute for Behavioral Sciences. His eyes fell upon one of the names on the board outside the building. Dr. Devika Reddy.

“Stop the car, please,” he suddenly said.

Katyal had to brake hard to stop the car. “What happened?” he asked. “All okay?”

“Yeah. I just need to get off here.”

“But your place is still 4 kilometers away.”

“Yeah, but I have an errand to run. Thank you for dropping me.”

“Okay. See you next week.”

Amresh hopped out of the car and crossed the road. Maybe the universe wanted him to get the help he so badly needed.

He couldn’t afford Dr. Reddy’s consultation fees. But maybe, he could survive the next few days on plain bread. Besides, Frau Rosen’s lasagna would last him at least three meals, four even if he was frugal with the portions. That would take care of his budget imbalance. Steeling up his nerves, he went inside.

*****

“I am not entirely sure what to prescribe you?” Dr. Reddy said to the tall, handsome client sitting in front of her. “Maybe therapy and counseling sessions like these will help you better than pills.”

Bhargav smiled at her. “Maybe.”

“See, there is no reason for you to feel so guilty and burdened. From everything you have told me so far, there is nothing even remotely wrong with you as an individual. You are an exemplary son, an attentive boyfriend, a decent employee, and you don’t have anger issues. Maybe that’s the problem. You’re too nice.”

At this, he laughed.

“Me? Nice? I don’t feel nice. I constantly feel as if I have done something horrible, something that destroyed somebody. Completely.”

“Wow, that’s a little dramatic, isn’t it? Or is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“I wish there was. Then, I would at least have an explanation for my constant guilt.”

Devika sighed. She felt bad for her new patient. There was nothing really wrong with him. But he was clearly troubled. He didn’t even suffer from anxiety or depression. Nor was he obsessed with himself, like some people were.

He was just so… sad. And guilty. For some crime he didn’t know he had committed. Or well, hadn’t committed.

“I think it’s best to continue with therapy for some time,” she said to him. “If you aren’t feeling better in a few weeks, we will try medication. So, see you same time next week?”

“Sounds good to me,” Bhargav said. “I hope this works. You are the sixth therapist I’m seeing. And I really want to feel better.”

“You will.” Devika reassured him. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“Thank you. And oh, just one request. Can you please keep this notice here?” He slipped her a photocopied A4 sheet.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I’m looking for a housemate. You know this city and its crazy prices. A housemate would make my pocket considerably lighter.”

“Okay, I will keep this on my desk. No problem.”

Bhargav thanked her again and left her office. He briefly noticed a tall, dark man waiting outside for his turn to the see the doctor.

Something faint yet familiar flashed through his mind. But the image was gone before he could make out what it was. He turned around to look at the man again. However, he only caught the whoosh of the door and a momentary glimpse of a navy windcheater.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amresh has his first therapy session with Dr. Devika Reddy. And she suggests a small solution to one of his most pressing problems.

The client avoided her eyes. It had been more than 10 minutes since he had come in. And so far, he had said nothing.

Devika believed in letting the patient take his time. But from the state of his faded clothing, his cheap (and probably ineffective) wind jacket, and his ragged shoes, he seemed to be of… er… limited means. Her consultation was reasonable by Mumbai standards. Even then, it was a little discomfiting for her when her patients wasted time instead of making the most of the one hour they could get with her.

She cleared her throat.

He finally looked at her and stood up.

“I… I am sorry,” he stammered. “This was a bad idea.”

Devika was surprised. “Um, but you haven’t even told me what’s wrong,” she said. Vaguely, she also registered that there was something strange about his voice. Where had she heard it? Why did it sound so… so… familiar?

“Don’t worry, I don’t need a refund,” he said. “I am sorry I wasted your time.”

“No, wait. Look, you can leave. But, at least tell me what’s wrong. If this is your first time in a therapist’s office and you’re feeling awkward, that’s completely normal.”

“It is?”

“It is. Come, sit.”

Amresh sat down.

“I don’t know what my problem is,” he said. “But… something is wrong.”

Devika nodded in understanding. It was not uncommon for patients to know that something was not quite right without being able to pinpoint exactly what that was.

“That’s okay,” she reassured him. “Why don’t we talk about your day. What all did you do today?”

Amresh sighed in relief. This, he could manage. Unwittingly, he told her far more than he had meant to. He told her about the rehearsal, about the altos who missed their entry, about Katyal’s advice to try yoga, and a host of other things like the lightbulb in his bathroom that had gone kaput earlier that morning.

Devika heard everything attentively.

Once he was done, she asked only one question. “So, do you really like lasagna?”

Her question seemed innocent enough so Amresh had no problem answering. He told her he indeed liked lasagna.

“Do you make it often?” she asked.

“No, I usually don’t have the time to cook.”

“Okay. And that’s why whenever Miss Rosen makes lasagna, she gives you some to take home?”

This time, Amresh understood what she was really asking. He was tempted to lie. But then he thought about the 700 bucks he had paid for this consultation.

“No, that’s not why she gives me lasagna to take home every time she makes it,” he clarified. “She gives me food to take home every other rehearsal, no matter what she’s made. And it’s because I am sometimes too broke to buy proper groceries.”

Devika was glad for his unexpected honesty. She had wondered if she’d have to pull teeth to get to the bottom of this man’s issues. But he had readily admitted to at least one vulnerability. Perhaps, he wouldn’t prove to be a too difficult client.

“Does your financial situation bother you?”

He chuckled darkly. “It should, right?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Let me rephrase the question. Is your financial situation the reason why you’re here? Is it affecting your ability to rest, to sleep peacefully?”

He thought about that for a minute. It was true that his financial situation did add to his stress. Several times in the last few months, he had fallen short of rent money. And the landlord had penalized him for each late payment, thereby putting even more pressure on his overtaxed pocket.

But why was he in that situation?

“Can you get a better job to help ease the financial burden? Have you considered moving to a different city?”

“I am from a different city,” he answered. “I’m from Hyderabad. Moved here a little over a year ago.”

“Oh, wow, I’m from Hyderabad too,” she said. “Wait, I’m stupid for not guessing it earlier. You do have an accent.”

“You don’t have one though,” Amresh said. “I wouldn’t have known. But your name did make me wonder.”

“Funnily enough, the patient just before you was from Hyderabad as well. But he’s been in Mumbai a lot longer than you.”

“Well, clearly, the city has suited him well then. It is too expensive for me.”

“Can’t you get a better job? What are your qualifications?”

“I… I actually didn’t even write my 12th boards,” he looked away in embarrassment. “I just have an advanced certificate in piano performance. And that too because my mother insisted on having me take that exam when I was 13.”

“You’ve been playing that long? You must be really good then. Can’t you get a degree in it?”

“I can’t afford it.”

Devika frowned. To almost every question, his answer was that he couldn’t afford it. And yet, his mother had paid for piano lessons for him. Definitely not a cheap hobby to put one’s child into.

She had a feeling that this was where the answer would be. The financial situation was just an excuse. His true problems were hidden in his relationship with his family. But today, they were almost out of time. She would have to broach that topic in the session.

“Perhaps you can save money on rent by getting a roommate.”

“My place is too small for a roommate. Besides, the location is convenient. I can’t move too far outside. Travel would become impossible then.”

Devika took the notice left behind by Bhargav and passed it over to him. “He was the person who came before you. Like I said, he’s also from Hyderabad. What a coincidence. But you can try talking to him. He is looking for a roommate.”

“I am not sure about this.” Nevertheless, Amresh took a picture of the notice on his phone. “But I will call him and see if we can work out something.”

“Good,” Devika said. “Will I see you again?”

Amresh didn’t know what to say. He simply shrugged.

“Well, I will keep this slot open for you next week. If you are able, come.” Devika didn’t know if it would mean anything. But she had to offer him her help anyway. She hoped though that his need for therapy would be taken care of by the easing of his money troubles. He didn’t seem to have any other serious issues, unless of course, there was something between him and his parents.

Regardless, he was a 27-year-old grown man. She didn’t think it could be too bad. But at the same time, she knew it was a little early to judge.

****

Amresh walked out of the center feeling a little better than he had an hour ago. There was something so warm and comforting about that doctor. He had been unable to say anything for the first few minutes because of the sheer calm he had felt upon entering her room.

But he had also been unable to look at her face or into her eyes. He didn’t feel right telling her about his troubles. In fact, he was worried that she would laugh at him for being stupid and selfish. He had no real problems. Why then, had he come to therapy.

He didn’t think he could handle it if she derided him or mocked his pain… even if there was no apparent reason for his pain, even if he was faking it somewhere deep down.

He hated that he felt like an imposter, like he had no right to feel so miserable all the time.

And yet, this was all he could feel. There was a strange, familiar sort of comfort in being alone and depressed. It was a space he recognized. Despite its emptiness, it was like a well-worn childhood blanket that enveloped him completely even if it wasn’t adequate anymore.

Consumed by these thoughts, his feet carried him to the nearest station. The 7:00 pm local would get him home in less than 45 minutes.

His stomach let out a growl. He grinned to himself and looked at the bag of lasagna in his hand. He couldn’t wait to get home and eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reviews. Please leave one if you like this story :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every human being carries a debt that follows them around, messes with their karma, and terrifies them across lifetimes if it remains unpaid. What happens when the debt is too large for a single soul to shoulder, and the object of the burden is also an object of desire, love, and devotion?

Bhargav sat in his study and examined the latest pile of scripts he had been assigned. Week after week, writers from all over the country had been sending in nothing but utter garbage. His head throbbed after reading yet another scene riddled with grammatical errors, a stodgy opening, and clichés that would make India TV blush.

“I should have stuck to PR,” he murmured and stood up from his desk. His back protested at the sudden movement. “Fuck,” he moaned.

He switched off his light and made his way to the bedroom. It was not yet 10 pm. And even though he was tired, he didn’t really feel sleepy.

He switched on the TV and turned to the latest offerings on Netflix. A Pakistani drama about a young woman pining for her betrothed, a Korean series about a teenage popstar, a British cooking show… He settled for the cooking show.

As Giorgio Locatelli patiently sampled a competitor’s overcooked roast duck, Bhargav sank back into his couch and stared at a text message that had occupied most his attention for the last several hours.

“Hi, My name is Amresh. Got your number from Dr. Reddy. She said you were looking for a housemate. Please respond with details if you’re still looking. No calls, only texts.”

It was a simple text. Bhargav couldn’t understand why he was unable to send a response.

He stared at the blinking cursor, hoping the right words would come to him.

“Can you come tomorrow to see the place?” he managed to type at last.

“What time? And what is the rent?”

Amresh’s instant reply put Bhargav at ease.

“The rent is 6,000 per month. Utilities separate. Can you come at 10 am tomorrow?”

For several minutes, there was no answer.

Bhargav waited as the minutes ticked by. His stomach twisted into knots and his palms sweated. His eyes to the TV screen to see a contestant fret over her unset custard. On the shelf, the goldfish in his fishbowl did several cartwheels in the water before coming up to nibble at the last few bits of food floating on the top.

_Ping!_

He jumped.

Nervous and astonished at his own eccentric behavior, he opened the message with shaking hands.

“Okay, be there at 10 am.”

Bhargav sighed with relief. To relax at last, he pulled out a can of chilled diet cola and the biggest bar of dark chocolate he could find in his pantry.

He reasoned that he was nervous because it was his first time living with someone else. He chose to ignore the dread that had taken root somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He was equal parts excited and equal parts terrified about meeting the stranger who was coming the next day to see his apartment.

Maybe it was just his anxiety. It was embarrassing, really, that a grown man, a man accustomed to dealing with overeager, talentless, clueless, and patronizing Bollywood hopefuls, was so jittery about meeting a prospective housemate.

However, that was the bare truth.

All night, he tossed and turned in bed, wishing in vain to delay the inevitable. Several times, he picked up his phone to cancel the meeting and end his misery with a single text message.

But despite his best efforts, the courage to hit ‘send’ did not come to him.

*****

“Just give me a day or two, I will move out,” Amresh said yet again. “The notice period doesn’t end for another week.”

“Yes, but new party need the possession tomorrow,” the landlord retorted. “And you haven’t paid utilities in two months. Even on rent, you owe me 8,000. You leave now. We have had enough of you.”

“Yes, yes, he also comes in very late sometimes… it disturbs the entire building,” a lady remarked as she hung out clothes to dry.

“You stay out of this, amma,” Amresh said angrily. “My hours are nobody’s business but my own.”

“Not here, son,” an elderly woman said. “Here, you must follow the rules. 11 pm last entry.”

“Yes, but since you are moving out, that is no longer relevant. Please pay the rest of your balance and leave. I want the place cleared out by evening. Pack your things and leave them with Bholaram.”

“Why? I’ll just take them with me.”

“No. First you pay balance. Then only you can take your things.”

Amresh was unable to say anything. His cheeks flushed with humiliation, he scanned the crowd and the faces peeking out from the balconies; not a single kind expression, not a single word of solidarity, not a single apologetic glance.

He nodded and went back inside to pack his meager belongings. The landlord’s order was unpleasant but not shocking. Mumbai was known to be this way, at least in his experience. Nobody cared about friends and neighbors. Everyone was here to make money, in the hopes that someday, prosperity would be theirs.

For the first time in his life, Amresh was glad for his lack of possessions.

His four shirts, three pants, two jackets, six pairs of socks, and four underpants fitted easily in his suitcase with room to spare. His two plates, his saucepan, and his only set of cutleries, took the remaining space. His personal items—a toothbrush, a comb, and his laptop—fitted in his handbag. His precious music books and scoresheets were packed into a small briefcase.

As he placed his bags in Bholaram’s shack, a wave of bitterness came over him. He wanted to toss all of his things into a fire. Clearly, they were as unwanted as him.

He plugged in his earphones and boarded the local for Chembur.

For the next 55 minutes, he was able to focus on nothing but the music. His favorite playlist, a combination of EDM and jazz, helped him settle his frazzled nerves. He needed to be calm if he wanted to present himself as a decent housemate. At this point, he wasn’t merely going to see the house. He was going to move in. And for that, he needed to come across as a gentleman, not the psychotic recluse who had been disliked my neighbors and landlord alike.

The Ganesh Housing Society where Mr. Bhargav Venkatesh lived was mercifully not too far from the train station. But it was located in a somewhat rundown area. That explained the cheap rent! Amresh checked the address again. B-405. He searched for the elevator, only to find an ‘out of order’ sign stuck to its grill.

Another few minutes of searching took him to his other option, the steep staircase that looked dusty, grimy, and claustrophobic. But he had no option other than to deal with it. The old dull ache in his knees and legs flared up. A burning sensation made itself known in his lower back, shoulders, and wrists.

“Not now, you fuckers,” he groaned. His hand shook a little, but he managed to hold on to the banister for support.

He desperately wanted to leave. He couldn’t understand why he was suddenly feeling so ill.

But because of his situation, he had no choice. He needed this place.

By the time he got to the fourth floor, he was rather out of breath. To top everything off, he now had a headache and his entire nasal cavity felt chocked.

Fanning himself and striving for a calm he did not feel, he opened the top button of his shirt and rang the bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you are still reading and would like to see this story continued. I am super sorry for such a late update.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Devika Reddy understands a bit more about Amresh's condition. Amresh and Bhargav finally meet face-to-face.

_Chronic Unexplained Scarring (CUS) is a rare congenital disorder that affects 0.000001% of the population. Till date, the United States has reported a mere 65 confirmed cases of this disease, also known as Bloom’s Syndrome after Lady Marie Cornelia Bloom, the only daughter of the 8th Earl of Dunhonelly. _

_Lady Bloom, the first and perhaps the most famous patient of this disease, was misdiagnosed with hysteria and treated for the same throughout her short, unhappy life. Birthmarks with an uncanny resemblance to burn scars, marred the entire left side of her face, neck, and torso. Consequently, despite having a large dowry, she remained unmarried. Plagued with mental illness, recurring nightmares, and chronic pain, she ended her life at the age of 39, alone at her Edinburgh mansion shortly after the battle of Culloden in which, it is said, she lost her unnamed lover. _

_“It is really unfortunate what happened to her,” writes Dr. Janice Cohen, MD, director of the Elisheva Redin Medical Center, New York. “We still don’t know a whole lot about CUS but what we do know is enough to take our patients seriously. They are not malingering, they are not hypochondriacs, and they are not looking for attention. Unusual birthmarks are not that uncommon. But to be born with scars that actually look like scars, sometimes rather extensive and indicative of extreme trauma; that is a matter of grave concern with far-reaching consequences. Self-esteem issues, intimacy problems are only the tip of the iceberg. Unfortunately, for now, the only answer is counselling for patients who suffer from this strange and barely understood disorder. Plastic surgery may be an option in some cases but from what has been observed so far, the success rate of such intervention is not very promising.”_

_In some cases, the symptoms of this disease can also include inflammation, pain, and phantom sensations. Psychological expert Dr. Sasha Kowalski offers a possible explanation best understood as projection. _

_“It is obviously not possible for a patient to deliberately cause inflammation on her joints or skin. But sometimes, extreme stress, partially related to the condition can cause physical symptoms that would appear to be related to the disease. Classic case of correlation is not causation.”_

_He rejects explanations offered by spiritual and traditional healers that take into account theories like reincarnation and karma. “Medical science is not religion,” he concludes. “It is best not to confuse the two.”_

Devika sighed and saved the article in her favorites. She didn’t understand Amresh’s case any better, but she did feel a little relieved that his unique symptoms had been acknowledged somewhere in medical science. She hadn’t yet seen the extent of the scarring he was so ashamed of. But it was understandable for a young man of 27 to be conscious about these things.

She opened his file again. The careless scrawl of his high school medical officer spoke of the years of unspoken hurt he had lived through.

_“Patient refuses to attend counselling. Seeks attention. Requires discipline.”_

The rest of the file featured notes pertaining to the occasional flu, scrapes acquired on the playground, a single instance of dengue fever at the age of 22, and a bar fight at the age of 25.

She looked at her calendar. His next appointment was four days away.

She felt rather ill-equipped to handle his case. Maybe it was time to hand it over to one of the senior doctors at the facility.

“Lisa,” she said to her office assistant on the phone. “Can you find out Dr. Bhupathy’s schedule. There is a patient I would like to refer to him.”

It took Lisa a little over 30 seconds to check for an open slot. “There is one day after tomorrow at 3:30. Which patient is this?”

“I’d like to keep that confidential for now. Thank you.”

*****

The obscenely loud sound of the doorbell made him jump up in alarm.

His potential roommate was here. Brow heavy with worry, Bhargav tried to calm his racing heart and opened the door.

“Hello, I am…” he began with a warm smile but before he could complete the sentence, his visitor’s face contorted in pain. With a strangled cry of agony, he fell to his knees and onto the hard granite floor with an audible thud.

“What? Oh My God,” Bhargav scrambled to help but he was too late. Already out cold, Amresh’s face was bathed in sweat and blood trickled out from his nostrils.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed under his breath and fished out his phone from his back pocket. Thanks to his sweaty, clammy palms, the keypad refused to accept his fingerprint. Several unsuccessful tries later, he managed to call 108 to get an ambulance.

Little did he realize this wasn’t a simple process.

“Hello, my… my… my friend just collapsed in the doorway,” Bhargav managed to say. “He’s sweating and bleeding from his nose.”

“Connecting you to an ambulance now, sir,” the voice at the other end said.

A government commercial about helping road accident victims played on the line. Bhargav knelt down beside Amresh and felt his cheeks and forehead for a temperature.

A moment later, someone answered.

“Hello, my friend just collapsed,” Bhargav repeated. “He is unconscious, sweating, and bleeding from his nose. Please send an ambulance immediately.”

“Our ambulance is not available right now in your area, sir. You need to contact Fortis hospital or the Radha Soami Clinic. They are close to your location.”

“Is there anything I can do in the meantime?”

“Elevate his legs to above chest level and call the ambulance. I will connect you to them. Has your friend vomited?”

“No.”

“That’s a good sign. If he vomits, ensure he doesn’t choke. Don’t let his head fall back.”

The operator then transferred the call to what was presumably the helpline number of the Fortis emergency.

Bhargav tapped his foot impatiently as an annoying, sickly instrumental played on the other end. His eyes surveyed Amresh’s face for any signs of improvement. He found none.

Just then, two things happened.

The instrumental got replaced by a polite woman’s voice asking how she could help him. And, a loud, pained groan came from the floor.

Bhargav dropped the phone and rushed to Amresh’s side.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” he tapped Amresh’s cheek. “I am just calling Fortis. The ambulance will be here any moment.”

“No hosp…no… hospit…” Amresh muttered.

“But you are really sick,” Bhargav picked up the phone to tell the woman his address.

“No hospital,” this time, Amresh’s voice was stronger.

“Are you sure?” Bhargav asked. The confused voice of the Fortis’ emergency operator continued to come from the phone in the background.

“I am sure,” Amresh pushed himself up. “Can you give me a napkin please. And a glass of water, if you don’t mind.”

Bhargav nodded and went to the kitchen.

As he poured water into a cup and found a box of tissue papers, he tried to pull himself together as well. He had worried all day yesterday about this meeting. Clearly, his sixth sense had been trying to warn him about today’s events.

But the weird uneasiness in his chest had only intensified. His own emotions—the horrible anxiety and sense of guilt that plagued him—was back full force. All he wanted to do, was to crawl into his bedroom, turn off the lights, and have a good long crying session.

Except, there was an incapacitated stranger outside who needed his help.

“Here,” Bhargav gave him the cup. “Can I get you aspirin or something?”

Amresh stared at Bhargav’s hand for a long moment before accepting the cup. Beads of sweat trickled down his temple. Without taking a sip, he placed the cup on the table.

“I think I should get going.” He stood up but the slump in his shoulders and his ashen face gave his lingering discomfort away.

“You aren’t well enough to go anywhere,” Bhargav countered. “Look, it doesn’t matter if we are roommates yet or not. You can leave once you feel a bit better. I can drive you to the clinic.”

Amresh couldn’t make sense of his inexplicable urge to bolt from the room. And his pounding headache made it impossible to think clearly. Not to mention that aches and pains that had taken over the rest of his body. It had been years since he had experienced such a terrible episode of his… well, his condition.

“Are you… are you sure you don’t mind. I just need a couple minutes. I will be fine.”

Bhargav nodded. “Why don’t you rest for a while in the spare room? It might help.”

“Oh no, I don’t wish to impose.”

Amresh’s words were polite and courteous like any regular stranger’s would be. But Bhargav could sense an underlying note of fear.

“Look, you don’t have be all formal here. Just take the room.”

With exhaustion pulling at every muscle in his body and no place of his own to return to, Amresh could not refuse Bhargav’s offer. He allowed himself to be led to the spare room, which was sparsely furnished but clean and comfortable.

While he pulled off his shoes and socks, Bhargav brought him a bottle of water, a strip of crocin, and a strip of aspirin.

Despite his best efforts to not look, Bhargav let out a tiny gasp at the sight of Amresh’s twisted, misshapen toes and toenails.

“I’m sorry but if you don’t mind telling me, what happened to your feet?”

“Nothing. Just a birth defect.”

“Birth defect? That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

Amresh’s short, to-the-point answers left no room for further discussion. Bhargav stepped out.

Amresh shut the door but kept his ears open. The hammering in his head eased a little as he heard the comforting sound of receding footsteps. He gently dabbed a tissue around his nostrils to clean the blood. 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to live in this house with this stranger. After suffering a breakdown of this degree, he knew his symptoms would be back with a vengeance.

But he no longer had his old apartment. And, there was a strong possibility that Bhargav would not want to share with him anymore. Mumbai was a busy city with no time to stop for anyone. Nobody wanted a sick roommate.

Perhaps he would find shelter for a few days in a temple or a gurudwara. If he was lucky, maybe he’d get there before the evening prayers and the distribution of the prasadam!

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a review:) Pretty please!


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